


Angel's Nest

by ratherbeblue



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Other, Sex Work, Warlocks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-23 19:11:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17689202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratherbeblue/pseuds/ratherbeblue
Summary: The meeting between my Warlock and her patron.





	Angel's Nest

All at once the lights around the establishment dim.

A figure descends, she herself wide and curving just as the staircase beneath her is. She is draped in sheer silks and chiffon layers of pink and gold, a pair of delicate white feathered wings affixed to her back, complimenting the delicate halo of gold wire floating above her head. Her dark hair is held in a loose but intricate braid and it tumbles down to just kiss the small of her back. She holds her gaze to the floor, dark lashes all that can be seen, until she reaches the bottom of the staircase. There she plucks a slow precious note from the intricate, golden inlaid lyre she holds in both arms.

As the sound starts to fade she looks up, green tinged skin flush his pink high across her cheeks, her expression is soft and open, but still betrays her mischievous mind as her full lips quirk up on one side, revealing more of one of her sharp upturned tusks. Getting a chance to take in her audience for the evening she weaves through the tables on her way to the stage, her walk more of a dance as she continues her song, purposefully casting long glances at the patrons as she makes her way to a small stage where one beautiful stool is set up for her.

She takes her time as she settles in, making sure her layers of clothing are draped in an appropriately lavish manner all around her.

She continues her song, deft fingertips pulling soft keening sounds from the instrument, as she continues the music grows more desperate, faster and anxious until finally, a stroke of triumph. She glides her hands through the strings at a steady, sure pace and her mouth opens, not to sing but to lowly spill out sweet voiced words in a language no one understands just under her breath.

At the climax of her song a glow starts to emanate from the very heart inside her. Bursting free and casting a shadow on everything surrounding her as the music crescendos one final time.

She stops.

The crowd erupts.

Those closest to her seem completely enthralled with what they had just seen, eyes wide and faces streaked with tears they don’t notice quite yet.

Those farther away are just as impressed, if tinged with jealousy of not having been close enough to get the full experience.

But, there was time for that later still.

She steps off the stage and the lights return to normal.

The lyre is dropped into one of her sister’s hands and replaced with a stack of thick parchment cards.

Her dance continues, weaving through the tables to chat with regulars and occasionally slip a young lady a card from the stack. She charms quickly, leaving them wanting more, always.

She thinks her night is done until she spots an unfamiliar figure seated at a far corner table. They are tall and fair, something otherworldly, but only in a vague shifting way that she can’t seem to put her finger on. Still she pushes forward, wide hips swinging heavily between the patrons and the furniture as she makes her way towards them. Stopping just shy of their personal space.

“Oh my,” She says, pushing a surprisingly delicate hand against her own cheek in false embarrassment. “I must admit I feel a little blasphemous now that I am in the presence of an actual angel.”

The stranger’s eyes flicker with something unidentifiable, but they too smile with a short quirk of the lips.

“Well, I’m sure there’s someway for you to make it up to me.” The lean forward, elbows spread inviting her in to their space, which she responds to easily. “Tell me darling, what is your name?”

“Cassiel.” She offers, the name falling softly and practiced from her lips.

“Temperance…” They breathe, amused by the choice.

“Something we all could use a little more of.” She challenges. “Though perhaps not here.”

That gets a full laugh from the person seated in front of her. The sound only slightly too much like bells to be entirely of this world.

“No perhaps not, and who exactly would I have to talk to around here if I were interested in pursuing things other than temperance tonight?”

“That would be Madame Langtry. Come with me, I can show you the way.” It’s wholly unnecessary as the Madame doesn’t often stray far from the front entrance at any point, but she doesn’t want to lose sight of this stranger for one moment if she can help it.

Luckily the stranger seems amused and content with this decision, holding out an arm for her to take which she does before guiding him towards the front of the establishment, only letting go after introductions so the two can talk business.

It goes quickly, which is always a good thing, and when they return they have a key attached to a hanging heart with the number 8 carved into it. They have money then.

No time is wasted as they ascend the staircase and easily find the room. It’s the second largest suite, usually reserved for visiting members of high society or those that wish to indulge in more than one companion’s company. But right now it is just the two of them, the overly large bed with it’s many plush pillows and hanging gauzy strips presented to them as they open the door. Soft, shag carpeting cushions their steps, hers first as she is allowed entrance with a grand sweeping gesture from the stranger. A giggle bubbles up inside her despite herself as she takes in their dramatics.

“You,” They say, still bent at the waist, looking up to meet her gaze. “Have the most beautiful laugh.”

Before she can formulate a response she is picked up at the waist with surprising strength and steadiness as the other rises with her in hands, kicks the door closed, and takes her to the bed.

“You flatter me…” Her eyes shine with realization. “You know, I never did catch your name.”

“And I didn’t catch yours, did I?” Their eyes harden in challenge for the first time, it is not unkind, no threat of anything, just a firm, waiting look.

She met their gaze all the same, not giving anything to them first although something about this stranger’s unusual presence made something inside her ache to. To give them anything they wanted, name, body, mind, or soul.

After a moment they smiled again, a bit of surprise tinting their expression.

“My name is Auberon.” They say, the sound of the name seemingly played on bells as it is spoken. “I’d like you to call me Aubrey.”

“Alright, Aubrey. You can call me Gwyn.”

**Author's Note:**

> This story covers the first meeting between my bard/warlock who is a half-orc-half-elf, and her fae patron heavily based off of Oberon/Auberon from medieval literature. I have such a specific idea about where she comes from and all the characters that inhabit the Angel's Nest, so this may become a series. Let me know what you think!


End file.
